Sister To The Creed
by SylphinesBane
Summary: Sequel to Stranger To The Creed
1. Chapter 1

A Sister to the Creed

Another unmanageable groan escaping sleep jolted Tasha awake. Her vigil at Connor's bedside was exhausting, but she refused to leave. He had been unconscious for hours, the agony of his injury dragging him into a troubled slumber, finally. He had been writhing in agony for hours after she and Achilles had been summoned to Dr. White's. Dr. White said he hadn't broken any ribs but the bruising splattered on his side spoke otherwise. He had difficulty breathing and could not find a comfortable position to rest, and each movement resembled torture. Her own body screamed as she lifted herself from the kneeling pose she had somehow fallen into. She rubbed at the indents molded into her arms and legs from the rug and bed had left and winced at the soreness and stiffness that lingered. She laboriously dragged herself from the floor and quickly studied her charge. In the vague morning light, Tasha could see the gleam of sweat coating all of his exposed skin. Each shallow breath brought a pang of pain to his face. She fumbled for the damp cloth she had been using to dab at the fever he had somehow developed. The rag was no longer cold and wet with Connor's sweat than actual water. He kicked feebly at the blankets covering his legs as Tasha tried to comfort him.

"Tasha dear, did you sleep at all?" Diana whispered as she entered the room with a fresh bowl of water and some blankets dangling from her arm. She quickly emptied her arms and pulled the drenched blankets from Connor's legs. Diana soaked a fresh cloth in water and placed it delicately on the blotches of bruises blooming across his ribcage. He stirred, his eyelids fluttering, his head lolling side to side. Tasha watched as Diana slowly eased herself onto the bed and tried to hush Connor back into his unrest. As she rubbed the sleep or lack of, from her eyes, Dr. White filled the space next to Tasha and gave her a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

"I want you to sleep." His tone was serious and concerned. As Tasha began to stand to protest, her legs, numb from being sat on, gave out. Dr. White assisted her into a nearby chair and with an understanding and sympathetic voice explained that she needed to rest so that she could help Connor recover. He needed her strength for the times when he didn't have any, he needed her gentle female hand to take his mind off the pain, and he needed her…needed_ her._ Tasha understood and reluctantly loitered near the bed before wandering into the next room and collapsing onto the bed there. She had assumed she would have trouble falling asleep, but she was wrong and collapsed easily into peacefulness.

Each day was similar to the last. Tasha guarded Connor, watching Dr. White monitor his recovery, Diana struggling to get him to drink water and eat, Achilles hovering in the doorway almost every day as the other homesteaders came and went in a blur. Each night Dr. White had to force her into a bed.

"You are…still here." Connor mumbled after Tasha nearly chased Dr. White out of the room. She had been facing the door with her arms crossed under her breasts when Connor spoke. She whirled around to face him and rushed to his side.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" She whispered his name in relief as she pulled back the blankets to check his injuries. He lifted his hand to stop her; he did not want her to access his wounds; to see him in his weakness. She shooed his hand away and lowered the blanket to his waist, just as Dr. White had done every time he checked on Connor. She held her palm inches above the bruising, feeling the heat radiate from his body. She watched the slow rise and fall of his necklace as his breathed from the corner of her eyes. Tasha absently reached for the cloth and wrung it out before placing against his forehead. She studied his face; the slow trickle of water dripping from the cloth and the faint fevered haze in his eyes. Tasha watched his face twitch with each breath.

"You need to sleep." She was overwhelmed with alleviation at seeing him finally open his eyes and speak to her, but she knew his wellbeing was more important than her desire to feel him respond to her touch. He held her cheek and slowly rubbed his thumb under the dark circles of her eyes and pointed out the obvious,

"I am not the only one." Tasha slowly climbed into the bed with Connor and slipped under the blankets. She was careful to avoid his side that was blemished with bruises and nuzzled her head against the side of his chest. He welcomed her next to him by gently squeezing her body closer to his with a feeble tug. Tasha hesitantly placed her hand on his bare chest, but as soon as she made contact, Connor held her hand firmly against him. She relaxed, not realizing she had been tense and fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" She whispered his name in relief as she pulled back the blankets to check his injuries. He lifted his hand to stop her; he did not want her to access his wounds; to see him in his weakness. She shooed his hand away and lowered the blanket to his waist, just as Dr. White had done every time he checked on Connor. She held her palm inches above the bruising, feeling the heat radiate from his body. She watched the slow rise and fall of his necklace as his breathed from the corner of her eyes. Tasha absently reached for the cloth and wrung it out before placing against his forehead. She studied his face; the slow trickle of water dripping from the cloth and the faint fevered haze in his eyes. Tasha watched his face twitch with each breath.

"You need to sleep." She was overwhelmed with alleviation at seeing him finally open his eyes and speak to her, but she knew his wellbeing was more important than her desire to feel him respond to her touch. He held her cheek and slowly rubbed his thumb under the dark circles of her eyes and pointed out the obvious,

"I am not the only one." Tasha slowly climbed into the bed with Connor and slipped under the blankets. She was careful to avoid his side that was blemished with bruises and nuzzled her head against the side of his chest. He welcomed her next to him by gently squeezing her body closer to his with a feeble tug. Tasha hesitantly placed her hand on his bare chest, but as soon as she made contact, Connor held her hand firmly against him. She relaxed, not realizing she had been tense and fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart.

. . .

Tasha woke the next morning to sunlight piercing through her eyelids. She raised an arm to shield her from the ambush, when a voice broke through the attack.

"Tasha, I'm glad to see you finally up dear." Diana's smile was nearly as bright as the sun surging through the broken dam of the open curtains. Her arm did little to accelerate her relief from the blinding illumination. Diana proceeded to glide around the room humming softly as she picked up discarded towels and blankets strewn around the bed. Tasha could hear the chiming of glass connecting with other dinnerware as Diana collected the abandoned dishes. As Tasha's eyes adjusted to the abundant glow in the room, she turned to Connor and saw that he continued to sleep, undisturbed by the visual and verbal assault. He seemed to be breathing easier and the edges of his bruising held a yellowish hue.

"He's healing quickly." Diana stated, her voice filled with comfort in his recovery. Tasha was suddenly embarrassed; she continued to occupy the bed with Connor. Diana seemed not to care, as though she expected to find the two of them in the same bed, or that being both half Native it was expected. Tasha peeled the blankets away, exposing her bare legs and delicately touched the floor with her toes; testing it as though it were water and it might be cold. She salvaged her decency quickly; running her hands through the tangled mess of her hair and smoothing her clothes, as Dr. White penetrated the sick room. Tasha shied away from the bed as she heard the grumbling of Connor waking and saw herself out of the room. Dr. White's and Diana's voices filtered through the door she had left ajar as the floor groaned against her less than covert footfalls. Her bed saluted her and ignoring all pleasantries she belly-flopped into its surprised embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Connor's full recuperation took time, but Tasha knew he was well when he entered her room as the moon ascended high into the night sky. She could have been another victim with how deathly silent he pierced the darkness and melded with the shadows of her room. Beyond his expert assassin entrance, he was a novice when it came to her. She woke as soon as he sat on the bed, his hands stroking her blanket-covered legs. Tasha sat up, drew her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She studied Connor's silhouette, the moonlight framing him; this dark guardian, her mute sentinel, before leaning forward and sitting on her feet and reaching for him. His bare skin startled her, she did not expect him to be shirtless and she snatched her hand away as though she had been burned. He easily found her hand in the shade his body cast from the moon and lifted her palm to his lips. She blushed and as the heat spread from her cheeks, Connor kissed his way up her arm, stopping at her elbow. He slipped her arm around his neck and pulled her carefully toward him. The way Tasha had been sitting caused her to tumble into Connor, but he deftly caught her and cradled her; brushing her sleep-frazzled hair away from her face. She felt the roughness of bandages rub against her bare forearms causing her to sit up in alarm. She sympathetically traced the edges of the wrappings.

"I should have been there…" Her voice was wistful, as she recaptured her previous position in his lap.

"If you had been there, you would not be here now." His voice adopted a more parental tone.

"You do not trust me; you do not think I am capable." Tasha felt slighted by his words and shifted away from him.

"That is not what I said and it is not what I mean. The mission was dangerous, I was wounded as where several others of the Brotherhood. Had you been there, you might have been killed. Is that what you want?" Connor's voice was calm, but whetted from years of using it as a weapon. He did not understand why she was trying to see more words than what was right in front of her. She did not have the familiarity of her newly donned robes to accompany him on the more hazardous assignments he undertook.

"No, death is not what I want, I want a chance." She watched as his profile nodded gradually in understanding. He knew how much she coveted the freedom of her training; he had been the same way. He remembered the warnings Achilles had force fed him and continued to nourish him with, somewhat still against his will.

"You will have your opportunity; do not be so hasty to challenge any threats." She wanted to respond with a stubborn remark, but he was done conversing with her and he pulled her into his lap again and cradled her in his arms. His embrace was not entirely welcome and she tried to wiggle away. He pinned her to the bed and straddled her, planting kisses along her exposed neck. He grazed on her flesh as she carefully wrapped her arms around him. Connor's unbuttoned shirt flapped like a banner in the breeze as Tasha realized he was still partially clothed. She gathered the collar of the shirt and yanked on it, encouraging him to sit up and pull it off. Tasha raised her palm to his chest, her fingers filling the crevasse between his muscles. The excited pumping of his heart and quickened breathing, thundered through her hand as she carefully searched for where the bandages around his ribs was knotted. The knob of fabric was near his back and as she wrestled with the tie the shadows sputtered across the side of his chest and arm that was facing the window. The starkness of his bandages was harsh in the moon light, as was the sleeping gown that she was slithering out of like a shedding snake. She took her time, noticing Connor's languid approach, assuming it was due to his injuries. In reality, Connor had felt somewhat hurried in his first experience with Tasha and wanted time to track and map every inch of her creamy skin. As Tasha emancipated his injury she noticed even in the faint nightlight, the bruising coloring his rib cage had faded significantly and only really pained him if the area was prodded too much, which she discovered when she had tangled her fingers against the ripples of his muscles and tried to draw him closer; he tensed and recoiled. She was quick to offer a silent apology as she twirled her arms around his neck urging him close once more and delicately rebandaging his injury with a poultice of delicate kisses. His hands found their way to her face as he cupped them around her cheeks. He embraced her head in his grasp, studying her; the deep chasms of her eyes waiting patiently, her plump lips slightly parted in expectation…he was startled by her sudden touch, the tips of her fingers under his chin, guiding him to her. As the space between their faces shrank, Tasha continued to steer Connor. She lingered just out of his reach; luring him closer while leading him onto his back. The blankets coiled beneath their twisting movements as Tasha employed her hands to carefully ease Connor flat onto the bed. Once she had escorted him into a horizontal position, she used her weight to flatten his legs beneath her, while reaching for the only piece of clothing that was now tight against him; his breeches. She pressed her hand against the fabric and slowly pulled eased it away from his skin with each finger. Connor carefully grasped her waist in his hands as though she were fragile, his hands gently filling her curves. He rubbed his fingers up her spine, lingering on each bone indent with his light, feathery touch. Tasha could feel herself responding to his inquisitiveness. Like footprints; her body held memory of Connor's physical contacts and their impression remained even after the waves ebbing between her legs tried to wash them away. Impatient with his last remaining piece of clothing and the slow, almost cautious nature of his exploration, she grasped both of his wrists to her hungry breasts. His fingers felt heated and each singe of his splayed hands Tasha could feel herself opening like a flower eager for the pollinating bee. He massaged her nipples delicately as he cradled her breasts, the pastry- soft skin wrinkling under each touch. They were smooth and fragile in the hands accustomed to dealing death, like an open petal; soft and creamy; a balm to his chapped calloused fingers. Momentarily distracted from fully disrobing him, Tasha gathered her overloaded senses and Connor's breaches and continued to slide them from his legs. Balancing her sudden weight shift, Connor held her chest as she quickly tossed the clothing to the floor. Tasha inched her parted legs toward his erect manhood but hesitated. Connor immediately took the initiative and with a grunt of pain he spun Tasha onto her back and stretched her out underneath him like an animal to be skinned. Ignoring the discomfort along his rib cage, Connor forced his weight into his elbows and wove his fingers through Tasha's blazing locks, grabbed a fistful and twisted her face to the side, exposing her neck. Her firm nipples pressed into his chest as she gasped; his lips touching her neck as he simultaneously parted her other lips and eased into her body's embrace. Tasha continued verbally expressing her pleasure as he adjusted himself inside of her and upon the sudden arching of her back; he slowly eased into a slow and steady pace. Confidence grew with each wave he released against her as Tasha sang his praises with each exhilaration of gratification that leapt from her mouth. This was the succor for a deficiency and with his wounds temporary forgotten he continued to plunge into her succulent mound. As her fingers raked across his back, beseeching him, Connor assaulted her furiously. He submerged his face into the crook of her unguarded neck now spotted with dewy sweat and damp strands of hair. He anointed his lips with her moist flesh as the friction between them accelerated. His air-parched lungs bellowed for release as he plucked his mouth from her skin and drank deep draughts of oxygen. Connor's intoxication left him light-headed and his injury sore. He decelerated his advances as he dueled with his discomfort. His chest felt constricted as one of Tasha's humid hands probed his ribs. Her touch was soothing and in appreciation, he drowned his lips in hers as she enveloped her thighs delicately around his waist. Clenching her lips with his own, Connor parted her mouth with his tongue while seizing a handful of her fleshy extremity and spreading her body open even further to his piercing virility. Her mouth was a dessert, sweetened by her firm uncontrollable tongue while her womanhood was a delicacy; seasoned with a tartness that contracted against him in a pulsating gesticulation. Tasha's thighs clenched as her hips bucked like an untamed horse. Connor released her supple behind, unable to contain her feral motions and uncorked his mouth from hers releasing a steady stream of moans heavy with delight. He thrust as her body waxed into a half-moon against his and felt release as he expended into her. Tasha shivered with pleasure under him for several more moments until she too splurged the last of herself into their intercourse. Connor continued to lie within the folds of her body as their breathing slowed and sweat cooled. He plucked drenched strands of hair from her face as she chased down her breath. The moon, cradled in her eternal darkness, continued her path across the heavens leaving the room in a wordless glow. It was then that Connor felt feebleness in his arms, his stamina was spent. Liberating himself from between her legs, he sagged onto his back. The bed shifted and he felt his eyelids droop as cottony, languid kisses expedited his fall into sleep


	4. Chapter 4

The morning hailed Tasha with a barren space next to her. The blatant emptiness shocked her awake and she tore the room apart with her eyes. Although the door was closed, voices trickled through the wood. Rashly dressing, grabbing her crumpled sleeping gown and discarded undergarments and propelled the door open. The voice's proprietors continued to barter their wares in impassioned declarations, both she realized she recognized; Ratonhnhake:ton and … her husband. She recoiled from the staircase and shrank back slowly on the balls of her feet. When her back pressed to the wall she clamped her hand over her mouth to dominate the scream that strained to be heard. The cold sweat submerging her body dampened her lips as the creases in her palm broke out in tributaries of fright. The heat of her rapid breathing caused her fingers to feel swollen with humidity as the armpits of her gown sprouted moist spots. She trembled as much from trepidation as from the terror-induced sweat that chilled her skin. Tasha's fear was deafening as her heart pounded into her ears, hastening the urgency to escape. Even when she heard the front door close and latch did she peer warily over the banister toward the overwhelming sense of phobia that lingered below. Connor had paused mid-step on the stairs to glance up and he motioned for her to join him.

"Is he gone?" Tasha blurted, panic accelerating the question from her lips. His face remained unchanged but he nodded once in response to her. She hesitated, reluctant to leave the safety of her self-imposed detention in the hallway. Connor was tolerant of her unwillingness to bridge the gap between her distress and his support, but he was unyielding as well. He wanted her to be unafraid but on her own terms. She finally crept down the steps when she saw his passive stance by the front door; he was waiting for her. After ceding, she used the curtains as a blind and scrutinized the tree line outside appealing to the spirits that she would not see him staring back. Tasha guardedly turned back toward Connor, her eyes raiding each shadow and corner of the space around her.

"He is no longer here, I watched him ride off." Connor assured her.

"What did he want? Why…why was he here? How did he know I am still here?" She demanded, her voice deceiving her as she endeavored to be calmer than she really was. Connor had never told her about the man who had come looking for her after she was consigned to Dr. White's custody, but this he could not withhold this from her.

"He inquired about the child and whether you still lived." He witnessed as her emotions subjugated her; her entire body wilted beneath their weight. She tottered, slumping into the wall. Connor reached her side just as she raised a hand to stop his advance.

"No." She hissed, regaining her composure. As her eyes met his and then projected their gaze behind him, she stood and arranged her stance in a more disciplined behavior.

Connor sensed Achilles had been eavesdropping on the performance, but did not interfere until it had reached its finale. He made himself known at that moment. His presence angered her; he had stood there watching, judging; arriving at his own conclusions. Connor pivoted, shielding her from Achilles as he approached his mentor. The sight of his back only infuriated her more; she would not have these men deny her the retribution she suddenly craved once again. Her season with Ratonhnhake:ton had been a warm and blissful distraction from a long belated conclusion. She had cultivated a weakness in his presence, tender sentiments, when she should have been whetting her hostility. Their conversation had been lost on her deafening contemplations of vengeance that had once again been given a life that she thought she had lost on that river bank. The inferno blazed inside her, but like a skillful blacksmith, she forged the heat into submission; her will the bellows taming the fervor. Forged under Connor's tutelage, but with the knowledge that her skills were not fully tried and tested; Tasha calmly left to the two men and found herself in the basement of the home where her training had begun. Soft, padded footsteps were not far behind her.

"I know what it is you seek and I know I cannot stop you, but if this is the course you wish to follow you must let me journey with you."

She fondly stroked the practice dummy before answering him.

"To make sure I do not risk too much?"

"No, to make sure you end him, like a true assassin."

. . .

The sun dangled idly in the sky, hazy from the morning mists like an egg yolk floating in an oily pan. Its waves had not yet broken upon the cluster of dwellings that flanked out from a central fire pit like spokes on a wagon wheel. Tasha melted from the tree line like a drop of wax from a candle and gazed upon the village. Connor, still secluded in the underbrush, warily watched her as her head turned gradually from side to side as she rebuilt her memory of a place that she once called home. He was not afraid of her determination but of the wrath she might release upon this land, he knew he earth could only drink so much blood before it choked and that she forgot nothing and was here to forgive even less.

She didn't know what she expected but a deficiency of change did not surprise her. Tasha closed her eyes and felt the day as it split open upon the clearing; the perfume of spent fires mingled with the pungent aroma of horses and beaten earth. The memories began to saturate her and the surplus tumbled from her eyes which she scrubbed from her face. She would not let this place see her cry. A breeze toyed with her hair and rustled the trees behind her, where she knew Connor crouched letting her take the lead. She opened her eyes, this time not seeing her archaic home, but an empty grave she meant to fill.

Armed with one of Connor's older tomahawks from when he was younger, Tasha reined in her need to slaughter the first person that came into sight…it was an incomprehensible challenge. She did not want this land that had cradled her and nourished her to become ground zero for her personal vendetta. This was her home as much as it was that of the many innocent people that continued to rely on its sustenance for life. No, she told herself, this was a decaying carcass; from a distance a serene portrayal of a life that she could never return to, but upon inspection it was a bouquet of rot and an existence she abhorred. The cherished memories were eclipsed by a solitary deceitful incident that Tasha was resolved to rectify.


	5. Chapter 5

He spoke about spying her through the sun-dappled labyrinth of a forest…she remembered how he skewered the word labyrinth through his shattered, decomposed teeth as he used his weight to pin her to the ground. His language she recognized but could not string enough of the words together to fully comprehend what he was saying, but that word he repeated as he beat her into a semi-conscious submission. Tasha had resisted, she had kicked and screamed but her protests fell upon the deaf, indifferent ears of trees and had frightened away animals, leaving an eerie silence in a wake of traumatized detachment. He had torn her body in half and left her clothing in tatters. She didn't know how long she had lain there after he stumbled away in a guttural drunken cackle or how she had come to be swaddled in furs in front of a fire, a healer dabbing at her wounds and whispering salving prayers.

Days and weeks in the aftermath of her violation were obscured in miasma of an emotionless hallucination. She would discover herself meandering along the tree line with no knowledge of how she came to be there and it would suddenly be day or night; the passage of time completely forgotten and disregarded. However, the emotions that she began to experience again were agonizing and swollen with fear. Menace lurked in every shadow and darkened corner, sudden movements startled her, and comforting words held hidden intimidations and threats. Her husband had endeavored to ease her internal suffering by physical means but he quickly abandoned Tasha to her sobbing fits and shunned her altogether. Most of her father's people disregarded her; only a few had sought to redeem her as they dragged her defiler bound and gagged to the village and slit his throat as she impassively watched. Even before the rains had completely rinsed his life's blood from the earth, Tasha learned that hers had stopped. That revelation was more devastating than the actual assault. The defilement she had survived she could forget; the man had been judged and sentenced, but this was a living reminder of what she had suffered. She would have to look upon this vile descendant of corruption; the spawn of her molestation for the rest of her life…unless she ended its existence. She did not know if she had the resolve and spent days pondering how she could without anyone finding out. The decision was plucked from her grasp when the women of the village learned of her predicament and did nothing to shield her from the wrath of her husband.

After splitting his knuckles to the bone on her face and stomach, he had heaved her defeated and fractured body through the dense forest. The fragments of her memory could not piece together all that had occurred once he dragged her into the dusk; her bloodied vision and scarcely conscious mind spared her from what she had hoped was the worst for when she woke next it was at the river's end where Ratonhnhake:ton had found her. She vaguely remembered the sound of leaves as she was dragged by her hair through the underbrush and dead, rotting branches snagging her clothes and plucking at her bruised skin. She was in futile attempt of surrendering her life when he happened upon her; the pain so raw and unrelenting she was nauseously thrown in and out of awareness.

. . .

She was quite aware now and the bitter nostalgia was coloring her own knuckles white from how fiercely she gripped the tomahawk. The velvety friction of leaves swishing behind her gave birth to Connor materializing in her peripheral vision. She yielded to him; tilting her head to watch him assess the still dreaming village. His hood bobbed slightly as he analyzed the settlement and then he met her gaze. His eyes were hard and unforgiving; his face stern and enraged, Tasha knew her face was emulating his and when he nodded briskly to her she launched forward and sprinted around the backbone of the huts, her memory the captain of her steps. The crisp soil hissed as she stopped at her destination and torn at the wall of the shelter with relish. Tasha savored the sound of the wall as she savagely hacked it apart with the blade she wielded and the exclamations of the occupants as she lunged through the torn wall and paraded the brandished weapon in their startled faces. Connor shadowed her, watching the dwellers for any allusions of foolish bravery or desires to flee. There was only one man and two women, the former nervous but with a sly confidence itching at his mouth, the latter terrified, clutching at blankets with wide eyes. Tasha began to speak, her words laden with venom as she gestured savagely with the tomahawk brutally close to their faces. The women shrieked into their furs and fled through the new opening Tasha had created, leaving the man behind without a thought. Connor now turned to her as he moved toward the fleeing women.

"No, I told them to go or I would open their bellies and feed any unborn spawn to the Gods." Tasha spat vehemently raising her weapon to halt Connor's advance. She then proceeded to swat away the blankets shielding the man and aimed her fury at his nakedness.

"Stop!" Connor shouted, seizing her outstretched arm and spinning her to face him. Tasha resisted his clutch, struggling to free her arm from his grasp. He did nothing but hold her, waiting for her to spend her excess fury.

"You do not maim, you kill or he will return with even more wrath. If you cannot finish this now, do not finish it at all. " Connor threw her arm out of his hand and waited. He had learned this lesson personally with William Johnson; he knew that if she did not kill her husband the man would still haunt her.

Tasha was silent, and in a swift, graceful movement, spun away from Connor and carved an arc in the air with the tomahawk splattering the wall in blood. She lightly stepped around his spasm-seized limbs and straddled the dying man while watching in a morbid curiosity as he clutched desperately at the yawning wound trying to tourniquet the flow of blood with his quivering hands. She whispered several words before rising and striding out of the hut the way she had entered. Connor gave the dying man a brief glance before following her outside and back into the forest.

Neither one spoke as they journeyed back to the homestead, but her silence concerned him as the house came into view.

"Are you well?"

"I am…I am satisfied…I am…free." She slowed her stride and turned to face Connor, tears of happiness in her eyes. This death had released her; no longer was she bound to fear and judgment. The prison of his existence had been breached, the bars torn from their sockets, and the walls demolished.

"I am free." Tasha repeated as though saying it once did not make it so. She had almost felt as if she had died and been reborn into what she was meant to be. Connor gave her a rare smile and guided her into the house as she buoyed on her new found happiness.

"Welcome home." Achilles stated as they walked through the door. He had something in his free hand, the other supporting his weight on his cane. He handed what Tasha realized was a box to Connor, who nodded as he received it and paused before giving it to her.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood." He opened the box and inside rested a pair of hidden blades, worn but newly honed with fresh straps. She glanced at him and then Achilles who gave her an encouraging dip of his head. She hesitantly reached for them and removed them from the box delicately with bated breath. Connor gave Achilles back the box and assisted Tasha in fitting the blades to her wrists. Her breath seized in her throat as she turned her wrists over to test the feel of them against her skin and let out a small cry of joy as she tested them.

"Nothing is true…" Connor stated.

"Everything is permitted." Tasha answered proudly.


End file.
